


pulling the trigger (on love)

by rosevestross



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Assassin AU, Language, M/M, Oneshot, Ryden, brendon is like.. a hitman?? idfk, poor ry, shit this is terrible but eh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 01:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosevestross/pseuds/rosevestross
Summary: what have i done?





	pulling the trigger (on love)

It was too hard a living, too hard a secret to keep and I knew it- yet I couldn't stop for anyone. Not even him.  
And that's how I found myself in that situation.  
  
Many dark nights had been spent in that one trashed alley, but looking back this eve in particular had given me a funny feeling from the start. The most awful deal I was to swear by would take place right there, but how was I to know that?

It started out simple enough, with the same basic procedure and rules. I took the job. I swore to secrecy and my client would do vice versa. No one had to know. Hell, no one _could_ know. I never learned any of my victim’s names. Personal information was a weakness and I knew that anything more than just a description could get to my head and shake my conscience. I took on another murderous identity to mask my true incompetent self.

 

He had no idea. None.

Did I feel guilty going around acting as if all was well when I had committed murder almost an hour before wrapping my arms around him on many occasions? Yes.

 

Did this stop me? No. But it should have.

 

Enough of that, the… guilt, although I deserve it.

 

The client came to that corner on an especially bitter November evening. I couldn’t tell you if it was a man or woman even if I wanted to. They all came there the same- concealed features with a low disguised voice, cash, and a special request they knew I’d rarely refuse.

 

The same thing as always. I would get a description and a time. An element of the anonymity of my victims was avoiding the stalking. A client would typically have an idea of where they would be at a certain time, the most ideal time to do the deed, also to avoid arousing suspicion. Simply, it was easier that way. I honestly enjoyed my routine. The lifestyle was a thrill and a secret well kept to me, and my long held desire of evading authority had been fulfilled in a way I never could have dreamed. I was happy in a sick, violent way.

 

But I was also in love. Explaining that I took contracts as a living was a surefire way to lose him. I said I was in the process of looking for a regular, well-paying day job, which was true. Told him I wanted to work in physics. Also true. Really, I just lied by omission. It’s almost humorous to imagine what it would have been like to tell him.

“ Hey Ry! Sorry, forgot to let you know, but remember the other night when I got home late? Yeah, that was because I got caught up in the middle of committing my thirtieth murder. Uhh, hope you don’t mind that.”

 

Even in my head I felt the pounding sarcasm with which I would have said it. It couldn’t have possibly been that simple to say. I tried to imagine his expression. The look of complete fear. The realization that he was caring for someone constantly shadowed in ghosts and death. I sometimes wonder if he would have kicked me out. If he would have talked to me calmly and tried to get the facts, or have screamed and called nine-one-one immediately. That remained undecided to me.

 

My client never specified how Ryan (at the time, of course, I had no idea it was him) had wronged them. Just said it was too much of a risk to keep him alive. So I suppose he had his secrets too, but how could they compare to mine? I’m not sure.

 

The request given to me was painfully easy. On the corner of 28th and Laurence. I was told that every Tuesday and Saturday night at 10:47 he would stand at that corner, returning from his late shift, and smoke his cigarette. Every other day of the week except for Friday he’d work, but only until 7. The details felt eerily familiar, but figuring that I was becoming soft to my victims I promptly convinced myself that I was imagining things. I told myself it was bound to happen anyhow, my slow crawl to paranoia and insanity (it seems I didn’t consider the idea that I was already insane by… well, I suppose I murdered people for a living).  

 

So there I was, a mere three blocks from my regular post and less half a mile from my apartment. 28th. 10:33. I had gotten there much earlier than I had intended to. This was risky and could arise suspicion, but it also gave me plenty of time to scout the place. It was awfully industrial, considering how close it was to the more urban part of town. I saw one distant object that looked like a camera but also appeared dislodged from its wiring. I remember letting out a soft chuckle at that. That was good. I wasn’t prepared to unwire any security devices myself anyway.

 

10:37. It’s feels odd remembering the countdown. When I try to remember any of the other crimes I had committed, none of them are this vivid. Almost as if I knew that this time was different, and I truly think I did know, in some strange way. I found a discarded crate about thirty feet from the corner, dragged it close enough to the corner and sat. The revolver clinked with my keyring in my coat pocket as I moved. I realized I was facing north- my victim was to come from the south, so I shifted sideways a little. Cursed at myself for not anticipating the painfully sharp autumn wind and covering more skin as my sleeve rode up.

 

10:41 and I brushed the trigger softly in my pocket. By reflex I almost pulled it, and for an instant I was curious as to how painful it would be for me to be shot, even in the leg. Then a truck drove by and I lost my train of thought. What a fucked up thought, anyhow. What a fucked up life in general. Everything had collided in my brain- I wasn’t too sure about this anymore.

 

10:45 and I hoped to a god that I never truly believed in that my target would actually come in two minutes because all I wanted to do at that point was leave the goddamn place. Get it over with. Be done with it. Anything you could say that indicated I wanted to leave would work in this context. I felt my entire body vibrate with anticipation of something going terribly, terribly wrong. The faraway streetlights still felt too bright, the sounds of traffic too viv-

 

Someone was walking, and it took no genius to assume who it was. The sound was faint, but it was an obvious sound nonetheless. Silently, I stood up and tried to slink back into the shadows while awaiting the ill-fated passer.

 

Just seconds.

Closer.

One second.

A millisecond, and I jumped out from the dark.

 

His back was turned to me, and before he had time to react, I reached out and wrapped my right arm around his neck, my elbow underneath his chin. I could detect cigarette smoke. My left hand put a strong finger to the trigger. It happened so fast that I barely had time to hesitate, until he started yelling. Of course I began to try and quiet him, but he wouldn’t stop. I could have pulled the trigger to shut him up finally, but something about it threw me off. And then I realized- oh my god, the chocolate hair. The voice. The… everything. Holy shit.

 

“Oh my fucking god”, I remember whispering next to his ear, and he froze.

 

“What the hell- is this- are you- wait-”

 

“Oh my fucking god”, I repeated. I was in complete shock. It wasn’t real. He isn’t real. But he _was_ real.

 

He took advantage of my state and freed himself of my grip, and turned around to face me. Jarring hazel eyes. I don’t know why he didn’t run. I guess he was in love.

 

I kept my gun on his temple. We looked at each other without blinking.  

 

“So.” he said calmly, painfully composed. “This?”

 

“It’s my job, Ry.” I felt my voice crack.

 

“Your job. You picked this. What about me?” I was silent. I didn’t move the gun.

 

“You fucking coward. You lied to me and you’ve been lying this whole time. I bet you never really cared about me- did you ever?”

 

“I… yea-”

 

“No you didn’t. You couldn’t fucking stop even if it meant losing me. You thought I’d never find out. Look where you are now, _Bren_.” The name that had once been delivered with love was dipped excessively in sarcasm.

 

The gun did not move.

 

“You won’t do it, won’t you?”

 

My hand was frozen.

 

“Take the gun off me, I swear to god if you don’t I’ll- I will scream loud as hell.” Ryan’s voice cut off pathetically.

 

Jesus Christ.

 

“No.” My voice was so low, so quiet, that it took him a moment to realize that I had spoken.

 

“No, as in you won’t kill me? Or-”

 

“No.” We stood there for another moment. He didn’t dare move, while I felt like I had no control over my body. He could have easily gotten away in a split second.

 

“I don’t know what you want from me.” I knew him well enough to realize that he was starting to get scared as all hell.

 

“I don’t know what I want either.” I responded slowly.

 

“I can’t believe this. You’re a fucking monster.” his volume increased as he spat and I came to my senses and the fire came alive and all of a sudden my body worked again. I moved but I moved in a way I could have never imagined. The tip of my left pointer finger loosened visibly. He noticeably relaxed and all of a sudden I was filled with such rage, such hatred not for him but for myself and what I’d done to myself. Self-inflicted anger. I shouldn’t have moved at all. I should have stayed frozen. I shouldn’t have-

 

My pointer finger recoiled. He was silent, and I screamed as he fell to the ground in such a quick moment. There was a puddle of sticky syrup, of blood around his head. I screamed with the volume of billions of propane tanks exploding all at once.

 

It wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t like I accidentally pulled the trigger out of reflex. I was so fucking selfish- I pulled it solely because if he was alive and he knew, I’d pull the trigger against myself. An ultimate weakness, a pain I wasn’t willing to face was him hating me that much and alive. It was easier to forget if he was dead, I suppose.

 

A love of mine once said, love can’t save you.   

**Author's Note:**

> i am so sorry  
> follow my tumblr for the sin!! @starcrossedryan  
> oh! and please comment i love hearing from yall


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